It's Not You, It's Me

Dear New York Sports Club of Oceanside, 11 years. One pulled hip flexor and a 6 week freeze post baby. You were there for me when I needed to burn off some steam and calories. We have been through two marriages, one divorce, and one pregnancy. You know all of my last names and prior addresses. I fell in love with spin in your midst, pedaling up until 24 hours before my water broke. I cried when that class gave me a round of applause for my dedication and persistence. But now, those applause are just a memory. As I look back on our time together, it's so much easier to romanticize the way we were. Not everything was perfect. I saw jungle bushes not meant for eyes like mine and saggy breasts that I can only hope were not a preview of what my girls could become down the road. Can you tell I have issues with public nudity? Wouldn’t you if you saw a woman wrapped in a towel, lying on a bench with her knees bent and well….you get the picture? There was the time I accidentally pushed the speed up on the Stairmaster to the point where I found myself holding on, legs suspended, while my shins were brutally beaten by the rotating stairs. I had to jump down and pray no one was watching. And that scale! It was always at least five pounds above my actual weight. Could someone with know how in the field of fixing mechanical medical scales get their ass over to you already? You know how I feel about the horrific body odor, (not limited to one but possibly including one or more of the following: pits, scalp, ass, kibbles, bits), bizarre sweat patterns and bad breath I have encountered throughout my travels. Before you remind that you are a gym, let me assure you, I know that. I really believe that I have extra sensitive scent detecting abilities. There is really no need to rehash any of these anecdotes, yet the smells are forever stuck in my nostrils. I would, however, would have liked to get one last whiff on my terms, but a certain bitch named Sandy (pronounced SanDAY in certain circles I hang with) took this option away from me. I barely even got to say goodbye to you, the gym I loved to complain about. Close to four o’clock this afternoon, I received a call from my gym friend, Tom. Tom and I have been spin buddies for about five years. He has saved me a bike, switched one out when it was squeaky, and was well deodorized. In return, I would call up and reserve spots for both of us, guard Tom’s bike when latecomers would try and take it because he was trying to get in one more set of whatever arm thing he was doing. When I had Emily, he brought me a gift and began saving Buy Buy Baby coupons for me. After Sandy, you were closed because the power was out. I had tried calling Tom, but could not get through on his landline. Eventually I heard from him; his first floor was wiped out and because his house had no heat and smelled like gas, Tom was staying with friends on the North Shore. He could not be at spin at the usual time, and neither could I. Life as we had both known it was very much up in the air. So, not surprisingly, Tom wanted to know if I was going to be at the gym tonight because it was going to be his first night back. No. No more of Maria’s Monday night kick your ass who cares if it’s Monday everyone is tired and you are here so just do it class for me. Tom asked me how he was going to spin without me next to him. I told him that this past Saturday I did it without him and it was actually kind of sad. And just an FYI…the spin bikes at Synergy suck. I am pretty sure they were your hand me down bikes from ten years ago. You have spoiled me so…. While you are only a gym, creatures of habit like me would prefer to call the shots. Change is good, but I have to say I am harboring some resentment towards a natural disaster that took my ability to make changes on my own terms away from me. While others absolutely had it worse than we did, we still were victims of what I can only hope was a fluke of nature. I guess when things are already out of hand, it makes sense to keep pushing the envelope and try something out of one’s comfort zone, like moving away from many things familiar. For me, that was moving away from anything along and off of Long Beach Road, which is what led me to end my eleven year relationship with you. It might sound cliché, but this is the truth; it’s not you, it’s me. Love, Lisa P.S.-Tom said I can be his guest if your rules allow it.